


Road Rhythm

by alynwa



Series: Song Stories [50]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: The prompt is Michael Martin Murphey's "Rhythm of the Road."  Lyrics follow the story.





	Road Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt is Michael Martin Murphey's "Rhythm of the Road." Lyrics follow the story.

“I’m sorry, Sir; I didn’t quite get that.”

“Have Mr. Kuryakin drive Prince Habib’s car to Tulsa, Oklahoma where he will be met by you and the Prince’s representative who will then take possession of the car.”

“Mr. Waverly, wouldn’t it be safer for the car to just ship it?  There are reliable companies in Santa Fe.”  He studiously ignored his partner’s almost frantic gestures.

“The Prince is very concerned about the state of his vehicle, Mr. Solo.  I was stunned, I admit, that he seemed less concerned about the diamonds, rubies and gold embedded in the interior and more concerned about the engine.  He said the car hasn’t been driven since his enemies stole it and shipped it here to America.  He feels that a good run on the highway will clean out the engine and restore it to its glory.”

“All well and good, Sir, but wouldn’t it be better if I rode along with Ill…ah Mr. Kuryakin?”

“Mr. Solo, you will fly ahead to meet Mr. Hussein and ensure that the Prince does not blame the United States for the actions of some of its citizens.  Do you have any other questions?” the Old Man said using a tone that said clearly to the CEA, “You better not.”

“No, Mr. Waverly.”

“Good.”  The _snick_ he heard confirmed that Number One had ended the transmission.

“Napoleon,” Illya chided, “I do not mind the drive!  Almost ten hours behind the wheel of a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud is something I never thought would happen.  Driving all night in that is not a burden at all!”

“But I can’t go!”

“That’s the best part!” the Russian roared with laughter.  “I can listen to whatever music I want and I do not have to listen to you snore, or worse, listen to you sing!  It will be a nine and a half hour’s vacation from you!  Go, the jet is waiting for you at the air field.  I am taking a two-hour nap and then heading to Tulsa.  I will see you in the morning at the rendezvous point.”

Four hours later, Illya was driving east on Interstate 40 and loving life.  He had slept for a few hours and gotten on the road at eleven.  It was now just past midnight and was no one on the road except him.  There wasn’t any music to listen to as all the local stations had apparently signed off for the night.  _Perhaps one day,_ he thought, _someone will invent a way for records to be played in cars, so that one can listen to whatever one wants._

But tonight, it didn’t much matter to the Russian; he was nodding his head to the rhythm of the sound the car made as it traveled on the road.  When in crossed from one large slab of concrete to the next, when the tires met grating as he crossed a bridge, when he was on a straightaway; each produced its own peculiar sound that almost sounded like improvisational jazz.  In his mind, he was providing musicians to round out the music.  Miles on the trumpet, Wayne Shorter on tenor saxophone, Bernard “Pretty” Purdie on drums all joined together creating harmony.

He couldn’t believe it when he noticed the sky beginning to lighten.  He spared a quick glance at his watch to see that it was five – thirty.  He wasn’t the least bit tired.  In fact, he felt quite energized, like he could drive for days without stopping.  _But fortunately, I only have to drive for three more hours._

He met up with his partner and Prince Habib’s man at eight – thirty at the designated spot.  He handed the keys over and after one last look at the car that had carried him through the night, he nodded at the man and walked over to stand next to the passenger side of Napoleon’s rental.

“Oh, I see,” Napoleon said as he moved to the driver’s side and entered.  “This is beneath you now.”

“I would not say that, but I will say that after driving a Silver Cloud for hours, this Ford does fall a bit short.”  Stretching out his arms as he settled into the seat he asked, “What time do we have to meet the UNCLE jet?”

“Wheels up by ten – thirty.  We’re a half -hour away.”

“Good.  Let us get breakfast at a diner somewhere.  My treat.”

Napoleon’s head swiveled to look at the blond briefly.  “Your treat?  That drive must have done you some real good.  There’s a diner a few blocks away.”

A couple of platters of eggs, bacon and pancakes later, the two men sat sipping their coffee and gazing out the window at the sunny day.  The place was kind of empty and the waitress had looked askance at them when they insisted on sitting away from the windows toward the back with the excuse that they could see as the booths were empty.

“So,” Napoleon said, “How was your vacation away from me?”

“If you are asking how the drive was, it was uneventful.  I listened to the rhythm of the road.  It was very soothing, actually.”

“’The rhythm of the road,’” Napoleon repeated.  “And what is that exactly?”

“In a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud?  It is glorious.”  He signaled the waitress for more coffee and after she had refilled both their cups, he took a large draw and leaned back in his seat.  “The solitude was wonderful, as well.  I did not miss you.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“Do not pout, Napoleon.  I did not miss you, but the separation allowed me to appreciate you and the partnership we have.  I had worked without a partner for years, both for Mother Russia and UNCLE.  I did not know if I could work with one, but I trusted Mr. Waverly’s judgement, even when he paired me with _you_.”  He finished his coffee and reached for his wallet.  “That is why I decided to pay for breakfast; I realized I have come to depend on our partnership and friendship.”  He tossed a couple of bills on the table for the tip, grabbed the bill and stood.

Napoleon rose, put on his jacket and put an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders.  “Thanks for treating, Illya.”

Illya shrugged the arm off him, but not before allowing a slight smile.  “This is why I hate to tell you anything.  You turn into a sentimental blockhead!”  He handed the check and cash over to the cashier, got his change and led the way out the door.

Moments later, the pair were heading to the airfield, Napoleon at the wheel grinning while Illya watched the scenery go by, both knowing that the brief time apart had somehow made them closer.    

**Author's Note:**

> There's a rhythm of the road that you can feel, you can feel  
> Like a feeling of quicksilver in your heels, in your heels  
> The high uncertain singing of the unknown rider's song  
> It's that high uncertain singing that will carry him along  
> And what will lighten his load?  
> (I don't know)  
> It's that everlasting rhythm of the road...  
> There's a rhythm of the road that is a mix, is a mix  
> Like a banjo and a trucker trading licks, trading licks  
> This is just the same song I've been picking all my life  
> And it's burning there within me like the full moon in the night  
> And what can lighten our load?  
> It's the everlasting rhythm of the road  
> There's a rhythm of the road that hides the miles, hides the miles  
> It appears once you've been riding for awhile, for awhile  
> Wake up in the morning and you wonder where you are;  
> As you turn around and wonder just how fast you got that far  
> And what can lighten our load?  
> It's the everlasting rhythm of the road


End file.
